


Worth It

by Yalu



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Disability, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Mission Fic, Physical Disability, Pre-Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, Teamwork, Undercover, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Daniel take on an undercover mission - as a married couple. Between arranging cover stories and plotting with Jarvis, Peggy works double-time searching for an edge to help clear Howard's name.</p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>She levelled her stare at the agent. "You want us to discuss the details of our cover story for a classified infiltration mission regarding a suspected traitor <i>in public</i>."</p>
</blockquote><br/>Set between episodes 3 and 4.<p>For my tropes bingo square "fake relationship".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mission

"Sousa! Carter! In here."

Daniel looked up, surprised, and caught himself just in time to avoid saying "Yes, sir" around his sandwich. Chief Dooley sounded pleased about something as he waved them into his office but Thompson, behind him, was frowning. Daniel chewed quickly and picked up his crutch, and glanced back to Peggy's desk. 

She looked wary. No surprise after that whole mess with the stolen car report, but Dooley was being pretty hard on her. Daniel fumbled with his crutch a few seconds longer than he had to and fell into step behind her. He couldn't tell if she noticed, but Agent Henry in the next row did; he mimed a stumble into his desk, making the other guys laugh. _Ass._

"We've got a possible lead on Stark," Dooley said once Daniel had shut the door. He gestured to a file open on the desk; the photograph clipped on was of a thin man in a British Army uniform with wispy grey hair. "General Bennett. Stark worked with him during the war. Might've been friends, file's not clear, but Bennett's gone on record this week saying there's 'no way' Stark's a traitor–" Dooley snorted "–so they're definitely allies. Bennett's been in New York since before Stark's escape, and he's got enough resources to make a man disappear." 

"If he helped Stark escape, he might know where he is," Thompson summed up.

Peggy was already leaning over the desk, reading. "According to this, Bennett has also described Stark as an 'uppity, meddlesome little man'. It's unlikely he'd put his career on the line for him, let alone risk being charged with treason."

"All Stark's friends say bad things about him," replied Thompson. "Can't help it when there's nothing else to say."

Peggy ignored him. "It makes no sense for a man to help Stark and then publically announce allegiance," she argued to Dooley; "it's exactly the sort of thing that draws attention to him."

"Which is why it's a smart move," Dooley explained. "Bennett's playing public opinion so he looks like the least likely guy."

"So smart that we suspect him anyway?"

Dooley waved that off. "Bennett's overconfident. And that's where you two come in."

Daniel straightened. "How, Chief?"

Thompson waved another file and handed it over. Daniel flipped it open with his free hand: There were maps of a building and the surrounding streets, but front and centre was a newspaper clipping: _ROOSEVELT APPLAUDS SUPPORT FOR CRIPPLED VETERANS._

The article wasn't detailed, mostly statistics about how many men left parts of themselves behind, but Daniel felt a surge in his gut over bits like " _lack of of consideration for basic needs_ " and " _essential for all public buildings to have alternatives to stairs_ ". 

(His apartment didn't have an elevator; the only thing more painful and awkward than stumbling down seven flights every morning was climbing back up them at night. A few months back he'd started keeping spare shirts in his desk so he wouldn't have to stink of sweat all morning.)

"A fundraiser?" said Peggy, reading over his shoulder, and Daniel shook himself back to the present to skim-read the last paragraphs.

"Tomorrow night. Bennett got his thumb blown off just before VE-Day and he's been throwing these things all the time ever since." Dooley shook his head. "Tickets cost an arm and a leg... What?" 

Thompson was chuckling. "Good one, sir."

Dooley thought for a second, got it, and laughed too. "Tickets are more than we can afford for a hunch," he went on, "but cripples get in free to show the fat cats who they're helping. You're the only guy we've got, Sousa, so the mission's yours."

Daniel put on an easy smile. "Glad to help, sir. What do I do?"

"Good man. You're going undercover as an outta work vet: Victor Jameson. Downstairs is making the paperwork now. Get as close as you can to Bennett and see what you can get out of him. If he's too tight, he's got an assistant, Lieutenant Payne, try him. Carter, you're Claire Jameson. Get gossipy with the other wives, see if there's any word on Stark's favourite broads going AWOL for a night."

"Certainly, sir."

Thompson frowned at her. "Can you do anything about that accent? 'Nah,' try saying that. 'N _a_ h'," he emphasised the nasal _a_.

She replied, in a flawless Brooklyn accent, "Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem, Chief Dooley. Do you have any details on the general's likes, dislikes, that sort of thing?" 

Daniel bit his lips to keep from smiling. Thompson looked startled, but Dooley nodded approvingly. "Not bad, Carter, not bad. And no, not much; Bennett's a pretty private guy and until now we had no reason to put together a file on him. That's your other job till tomorrow, Sousa: research everything you can on his habits, figure out what to and what _not_ to say to him. The rest of us will see what we can dig up on his shady deals with Stark. Maybe we can get you some pressure points."

"Do we know that he even has 'shady dealings'?" asked Peggy, British again. "He could be innocent too."

"It's nice you think that way, Carter. Now get on it, you two: you've got a day and a half to get your story straight." He shooed them to the door. Peggy swept up all the files while Daniel manoeuvred around, and she didn't offer to open the door as if his hands didn't work either, just held it back while he hobbled through. When they were outside, he jerked his head back. "Thanks."

She smiled. Henry snickered and mimed another fall, hand over heart, but it was worth it.

 

"What do you know about General Donald R Bennett?"

Through the crackle of the telephone, Jarvis' sigh was audible. Strains of Benny Goodman floated in the background. _"Miss Carter, if you are to be interrupting my schedule on a near-daily basis, it would do you no harm to occasionally recall the basic pleasantries."_

Peggy fought the urge to roll her eyes and leaned out the door of Dooley's office to squint at the dark hallway. The men's lavatory wasn't far, but at his usual pace, Sousa would take nearly six minutes before returning – she hoped. As it was, she was already very lucky that the only other agents staying after hours were those on the night shift, and they were at the far front of the room, too engrossed in their pinup magazines to be much of a risk, but there was no guarantee. "I'm sorry, Mr Jarvis, but I'm quite pressed for time. Chief Dooley has given me a mission."

_"I believe that is the only part of your current workload with which I have no connection whatsoever."_

"It is if he can lead the SSR to Howard."

Jarvis hesitated, and Benny Goodman grew fainter in the background. _"I sincerely doubt it. The general has no knowledge of Mr Stark's whereabouts."_

"Then you do know about him." Peggy reached for her notepad.

_"In detail. General Bennett is the man who refused to sign Anna's papers."_

"Oh." She stopped, twisting the pencil in her fingers. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise. That hasn't turned up in my research so far."

 _"Obviously,"_ said Jarvis, but seemed unperturbed. _"What is it you need to know?"_

"Personal politics, hobbies, anything he likes to talk about. And do please be quick, Mr Jarvis, I wasn't exaggerating about the lack of time."

Once on task, Jarvis was a fountain of useful if slightly dated knowledge. Peggy scribbled it down quickly, only interrupting to ask for clarification, until she heard the clicking of Sousa's crutch and said, "Thank you so much, Inspector, I appreciate your time."

_"Inspector? Why– Oh, is someone nearb–?"_

She hung up, but she wasn't quite fast enough to get back to her chair before Sousa rounded the corner. Instead she held up her notepad triumphantly. "General Bennett is particularly fond of fishing."

Sousa's face brightened, it was the most useful intel they'd found yet, but he still jerked his head at Dooley's office as he made his way to his desk. "Something wrong with our phones?"

"Not a thing," said Peggy. "But Chief Dooley has a nicer chair."

Sousa chuckled and eased himself into the hard wooden seats all other agents were issued. "Fishing, huh. Or fish?"

"Both. He eats his own catch and apparently considers himself quite the rugged outdoorsman," Peggy replied dryly, settling back down in the chair beside Sousa's desk and shifting some of the notes they had gathered. Sousa snorted. 

"Course he does. He should meet my dad." He shook his head and craned his neck to see the notepad; Peggy turned it for him. There were half a dozen useful points besides fishing, and he tapped his finger on one triumphantly: _violin lessons_. "Can't play without a thumb," he said. "Best kind of conversation starter; there's always music at parties."

Peggy nodded. All Sousa would have to do would be to remark on the band to start a conversation with Bennett, let it flow into discussing their injuries to establish a rapport, and then steer it towards Howard's history of donating to injured servicemen. From there, it would be easy to bring up Howard's suspected terrorism; it would undoubtedly be the only topic being discussed as much as war wounds.

"How are you going to lead it in? 'Victor' wouldn't know he was learning to play."

He paused for a second, looking at her, then his face fell. Quietly, he said, "Well... I always wanted to be in a marching band. Seemed like so much fun, you know? And... now I can't. I mean, I guess I can still play a few tunes, but it'll never be the same." 

Peggy leaned slightly forward, hesitated, then narrowed her eyes. "You play? Really?"

Sousa grinned and the gloom fell off him. "No, not really." He leaned forward and peered at her. "I didn't fool you, did I?"

Peggy sat back, regarding him with interest and not a little relief that the conversation had veered far away from asking who she had telephoned. "Well, I knew you might be; it's not a fair test. But I think you'll fool them. Do you know any musical theory?"

"Nah, not really. Had a few piano lessons as a kid. See, there was this man in our building who was really good, and Mom always wanted to learn, but she had a tin ear, so I got lessons instead." He shrugged. "No sense of rhythm though." Peggy smiled with him, and he leaned back on his elbow and asked, "You play?"

"I do, a little," she said. "Piano lessons in school. My mother wouldn't hear of her only daughter _not_ learning an instrument, and I was a terrible singer."

Sousa laughed. "You mean there's something you can't do?"

"You'd be surprised," she replied, turning back to their papers. "Perhaps we can use this in our cover story," she mused, tapping her pencil. Sousa tilted his head. 

"What do you mean?"

"Just a thought: Victor and Claire Jameson need to have some common interests. Music is good, and it will give us another angle to steer the conversation towards Bennett's violin."

He nodded, making notes. "Met at a... music class?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of they met through friends and music was something they bonded over."

"Piano's no good for the marching band angle... You don't need both feet, right? For the pedals?"

Peggy thought about it. "I don't think so. I'm not actually sure."

"Okay, forget that. Say Victor wants to learn... I don't know, the trumpet, and somehow Claire had something to do with that. Maybe Claire tutored him?"

"Oh, that'll work," said Peggy, writing notes of her own. "She doesn't play trumpet, but she could teach him musical theory on the piano while he translates it to his instrument."

"That'll explain how I know that. So, lessons every week for a couple of months? And that's when he fell for her." He grinned up at her. "Did she notice?"

Peggy was ready to reply, bits of ideas about Claire's reaction to his interest coming together easily, but she hesitated, and then the phone rang.

"Sousa."

While he spoke, nodding and making notes on another paper (it looked like a follow-up from Roxxon on the damage to the site, nothing relevant or dangerous), Peggy gathered her thoughts. 

Whatever they did on this mission, it wasn't likely to help anyone find Howard, but it wasn't going to help her investigation of Brannis and Leviathan either. It was a fine bit of luck that Dooley finally had a job for her the one time she didn't want it.

On the other hand, at the moment the biggest problem with clearing Howard's name was the SSR's refusal to even consider the possibility that he might be innocent. Bennett might not be friends with Howard anymore, but he knew the man, and had certainly witnessed the lengths he'd gone through to protect Mr Jarvis and Anna. Dooley and Thompson wouldn't listen to her, but if Sousa could be persuaded, he would have a shot at convincing the others to listen to her evidence with an open mind. It chafed, but it at least had a chance of working. 

She was still lost in thought when Sousa put down the phone and said something to her.

"Sorry, what?"

He waved it off. "It's okay. Want to wrap up? It's getting pretty late."

"Oh; yes, certainly," said Peggy. She gathered up her notes and began closing files, and stepped back to her desk to put them away. Sousa switched off his desk light and picked up his jacket. 

They walked out together, past the agents who weren't even bothering to ask what the call was about (McCarthy and DiVito, why wasn't she surprised?) and he stepped after her into the lift down to the phone room. Only Janice, Rose's night shift replacement, was in, and she gave Peggy a smile and Sousa a curious look as they passed and said their goodnights. 

"I always forget you have to come in this way," said Sousa as they took the second lift down to the lobby.

"What _is_ your cover room like?"

He shrugged. "Nothing special: desks, file cabinets, lots of junior agents making the place look busy and talking loudly about phone lines. They're doing our fake paperwork too, I think."

"I wonder how many hours I've logged at the phones this week."

"About as many as I've spent on patterns analysis and writing reports?"

"About that," said Peggy, and held the lift door for him to step out first. The main lobby was deserted except for the night guard, a man who was always complaining angrily about something, and they stepped out without a word.

Sousa slowed down as they reached the street. "Which way do you go?"

For a moment, Peggy was ready to lie; the SSR had never had her real address when she lived with Colleen (thank goodness) and all things considered, this wasn't the best time to start offering truths. She hesitated long enough that he added, "Thought I could walk you home."

"I don't need an escort."

He flinched. "No– I, uh, I know you don't." He shuffled. "Sorry."

Peggy shook her head. "No- thank you. For the offer. I just– I plan to go straight to bed, wouldn't want to keep you up."

Sousa looked down, shaking his head wryly, and Peggy winced: Of course there was no way _she_ would slow _him_ down. 

"First thing tomorrow, then?" he said. 

Peggy nodded, guarding her tongue. "Goodnight, Daniel." She tried to sound as kind as possible. 

He nodded and started making his way towards Second Avenue; Peggy tightened her grip on her handbag and went the other way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, 'Victor' is absolutely a _Dollhouse_ reference. How could I resist? ;D)


	2. Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > She levelled her stare at Thompson. "You want us to discuss the details of our cover story for a classified infiltration mission regarding a suspected traitor _in public_."
> 
> Planning a cover story isn't easy.
> 
>  

"It won't work."

"Well, yours doesn't make sense."

"It'll be easier to maintain our cover if there are fewer details we both have to remember."

"It'll be easier for people to believe they met before the war."

" _Why_?"

"Will you trust me on this?"

"No, absolutely not, I need a reason."

"Hey, lovebirds!" snapped Thompson, twisting in his chair. He was glaring at them. "Could you take it outside?"

Daniel looked up and around: A lot of other agents were watching them. Probably had been for a while now, judging from how they were lounging in their chairs, chuckling. He held up his hands. "Sorry, guys."

Peggy sighed and folded her arms. "Can you give me _any_ reason?" she asked, quieter.

Behind her, Thompson said, "I mean it, Carter. Take it to lunch or something. Let the rest of us do our work."

She levelled her stare at him. "You want us to discuss the details of our cover story for a classified infiltration mission regarding a suspected traitor _in public_."

Daniel smothered a smile. 

"If you can't fool the Joes on the street you can't do this mission," Thompson replied. "That really what you want me to tell the chief?"

"I could use lunch," Daniel said, keeping his eyes on Peggy. "You hungry, Agent? It's on me."

Her jaw tightened but she nodded and went to get her jacket from the coat rack. 

It was too much to hope that someone wouldn't whistle as they left together. Three someones, it turned out. Daniel watched her seethe as they made their way through the cover room and out, and when they were far enough away he said, "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't _you_ ," she snapped. Then she stopped, middle of the sidewalk, and rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that."

"Are you all right?"

She waved it off and started walking again – too fast, but she slowed to match him after two steps. "I just had a bad evening last night. Slept poorly, I mean. It's been a long week."

"Tonight's going to be pretty long too," Daniel said. "Maybe you should clock out early, get some res–? Hey, I'd say the same thing to Thompson," he said, cutting off her protest. "Or any of the other guys. They'd just be too proud to admit it."

Peggy scowled, cornered, and for a second he felt a little thrill of triumph – for a second. Then it hit him that this was exactly what the jerks at the office kept doing to her and he just felt guilty. 

Maybe it showed. She glared a second longer, then let out a breath and said, "Perhaps I will."

"I'll tell the chief you're getting us props or something for our cover tonight," Daniel offered. "He thinks all women spend as long shopping as his wife. You could probably take a whole day." 

"Thank you," said Peggy, and she smiled, a little. Daniel let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. 

"Glad to help. Where are we going, anyway?"

Peggy had been leading them towards Third, and since he almost never walked anywhere he didn't really have to go, he'd never tried the food joints down there. No need; there was a coffee shop back on Second and 57th that had plenty of good stuff if he needed more than the sandwiches they got on the SSR's dime. She stopped suddenly, and reached out to steady him when he stumbled into her. 

"I didn't think, I always go this way; there's an automat I like... It's a bit of a walk," she apologised. "We can go back."

"It's okay," said Daniel, and limped another few steps faster than he probably should. "You coming, slowpoke?"

She was chuckling as she caught up. 

The automat was busy. Maybe too busy: all the tables for two were packed close enough to hear everything your neighbours said and all the booths were for four; they'd never be able to get one to themselves. The best choice was at the window behind them, with three barstools and no other seats nearby, but there was already a man sitting in the middle one, and his newspaper was spread over most of the counter. Daniel turned back to the main room and scanned for people who looked ready to leave. 

Peggy was doing the same, slowly turning, but when she spotted the window seat, she walked over and said, "Pardon me, but do you really need this entire bench to yourself?"

Daniel stayed put, uncomfortable. (His mom used to do that, just go up and ask for another table, and he'd always hated it. Felt rude. His dad got awkward about it too: He said Mom only did it because she hated when they got put in the lousy tables for not being as white as she was, but it didn't happen _that_ much.) He kept his back turned. 

A minute later there was a rustle and the man folded up his paper as he walked out. Daniel waited a second longer before joining Peggy, and he was glad to see that the man's coffee cup was completely dried out; he'd been hogging the seats for a while.

Peggy was making herself at home, folding her coat on the counter and pulling out her notepad – and then paused again. "Are you all right with a barstool?"

Irritated, Daniel tucked his crutch under the bench and used his arms and good leg to hop up smoothly. The fake one clunked against the metal post. "I would've told you if I wasn't."

"Right." She looked at her blank paper. "I suppose Claire and Victor would have had this problem too. Working out limits, I mean."

"Except he was probably still figuring those out when he got back."

She nodded and, after a second, asked, "How long have–?"

"Two years." He shrugged to take the edge off and added, "About. Winter of '44. Took a bullet trying to run the blockade pinning us down and the field hospital couldn't do anything else for me. So..." he mimed chopping it.

"And when you got home?"

"Didn't get this–" he rapped the leg "–right away. Stayed with my dad for a while. Convalescing. Wasn't easy." He offered a smile and added, "I broke a lot of dishes. Unless Victor was a lot more patient, he probably drove Claire nuts."

Peggy smiled back, and the tension eased a bit. "Well, I'm sure she forgave him."

"Eh, my dad did." He twisted on the barstool a little until the dead leg was out of sight, but he could feel the socket sliding a bit off the stump of his thigh and pulling on the straps around his waist. As subtly as he could, Daniel reached down and lifted his leg so it was resting on the metal footrest; the strain eased.

Of course she didn't miss it (he saw her eyes flicker down), but she pretended to.

"Claire probably had a hard time those first few months," he offered. "I was really short-tempered. Mad at everything. Mostly me–" He bit off the rest, kicking himself: _Great job, Danny, you WANT her to know how pathetic you were? Pull yourself together, man._

He opened his mouth to say something, to laugh it off, but Peggy just kept taking notes. "Is that why you think Claire wouldn't have married Victor after the war? Too short tempered?" She sounded sceptical.

Daniel shifted in his seat, regarding her. He wasn't much of a judge of acting, but she seemed to mean it, like it really didn't matter to her–

_No girl's going to trade in a red, white and blue shield for an aluminium crutch._

She must be pretending again. That was nice of her.

 

Peggy had three thoughts going through her head as she waited for Sousa to answer: Wondering if he, and by extension 'Victor', would be telling his recuperation stories in such a way that she'd have to play Claire as a meek or steadfastly loyal wife (the latter was more appealing, but could come across as too idealised); working out how to ensure she, as Claire, could get into the conversation with Bennett and bring up Howard's probably almost-selfless intervention for the Jarvises; and wondering if, should she manage to wheedle enough support for Howard out of Bennett to convince Sousa, would there be any way to claim enough of the credit from Dooley and Thompson? 

Likely not, in which case she was damned well going to conquer the one real task they assigned her: gossiping with the other women for information. But that would take her away from Sousa and Bennett. She would have to try to split her time without losing track of Sousa's progress, and then somehow reintegrate herself by his side before he reached Bennett without making him suspicious either. If she played Claire as meek or shy she could cling to Sousa's side from the start, or at least return quickly after speaking with the women, but that would make it harder to take control of the conversation and steer it towards Howard. And she still had no idea how to lead into the incident with Mr Jarvis. 

"Right, next, what can I get–? English! Nice surprise!"

Peggy blinked, noticed Angie, and broke out in what felt like the first real smile all day. "Hello, Angie–"

"Hi, who's this? Since when do you come in for lunch too? What's with all the paper? You guys writing a book or something?"

Peggy chuckled, turning on the barstool and using the movement to carefully slide a blank page over their most obvious notes on Bennett. "Not nearly so interesting, I'm afraid. Angie, this is my colleague, Mr Sousa. He's a statistics analyst and we've been assigned a project. Daniel, this is my neighbour, Angie."

Sousa offered a hand, and they shook. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet _you_. Peggy never talks about the guys in her life¬– Wait." She narrowed her eyes. "You're from the phone company? This guy bothering you, English? Because if he is, I can kick him out that door right now. Well, not me, but Johnny's got a mean frying pan and last time there was this guy here tearing the place up, I just hollered to Johnny we got a problem and he was out here in a _second_ –"

Peggy laughed, shaking her head. "There's no need, Angie, really; Mr Sousa isn't like my other colleagues. He's always been very respectful."

Angie nodded sharply and smiled at him. "Good. You known each other long?"

Sousa looked amused too, but he picked up on her story and spun a nicely vague yarn about falling sales and statistics and how the bosses wanted him to get a better understanding of how operating the lines worked, and that was where Peggy came in. It wasn't perfect, but Angie had never asked about the details of her work, and Daniel was proving himself a perfectly decent liar. 

Perhaps tonight could be more useful than she'd been expecting: If she could count on Sousa to improvise with her on the spot, follow her leads like this, she could make their cover more complicated and perhaps turn the conversation to Howard's philanthropy without Sousa realising she was using him to do it. If he thought he'd dug up the information himself, he'd be that much more likely to believe it.

"Peggy?"

She blinked. "Hmm?"

"What can I getcha, honey?" Angie repeated kindly, waving her notepad. "The usual?"

"Please."

She didn't bother writing it down and headed towards the counter, saluting a wave as she went. "Nice to meet 'cha, Mr Sousa."

Daniel waved back at her and smiled as they turned back to their papers. "She seems nice."

"She is. I'm lucky to know her," Peggy said, searching through the sheets for her notes on the Jameson's music lessons. 

"You seem happy."

Peggy paused, puzzled, and looked at him. "Do I usually seem unhappy?"

He shrugged. "A little. It's... different, seeing you with a friend," he said, then: "Not like there's much chance with those jerks at the office."

Peggy smiled. "I'd like to think I have at least one friend there," she replied. "And it certainly makes this mission easier. Though I still don't understand why you insist that Victor and Claire had to be married before the war."

Sousa shrugged and glanced down to adjust his leg again. "It's more believable," he said. "And," he added quickly, "if they met after they'd have to be married pretty recently. Even if Victor got shipped back as early as I did, and even if it was a short engagement, they can't have been married more than, what, a year? I don't know about you, but I don't think I could pull off a giddy newlywed right now. Not with who knows how many of Stark's implosion bombs out there."

"You have a point," said Peggy. They could force the dates if they needed to, but it would likely cause more problems, and the date of Victor's injury would have to match Sousa's regardless so he wouldn't be caught out on the details of his recovery. 

"How about this," Sousa went on. "They met before the war, got engaged before he shipped out, and got married after he got back?"

"That works." Peggy made notes. _Met 1940? Engaged c. July '41. V. injured & home c_... "When did you get back?"

"March last year. Docs wanted to make sure I'd survive the trip," he said.

_V. injured & home c. March 44. Married c. July 44?_

"Four months should be enough to prepare for a wedding, I think," she mused, tapping her pencil. 

Sousa didn't reply, which she took as a yes, and continued writing other ideas until he said, "There's going to be dancing there tonight."

Peggy froze.

"Big party and everything, I mean. But I, uh... I don't think I could manage, even the slow ones."

"No– Yes, no; we should avoid it." Her fingers tightened on her pencil. "We won't have time enough to practice."

"Although they would've had to dance at their wedding, right?" he went on, rubbing his chin as he thought. "So we can't pretend they never tried. Maybe Victor didn't practice enough and it went badly at their reception, so he and Claire haven't tried it since?"

"Yes, good. No dancing."

From the corner of her eye she saw him peering at her. "Okay... so we agree. No dancing. You all right, Carter?"

"Fine."

He backed off. 

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose, scolding herself. It was unfair of her, and unprofessional, but she had to concentrate to relax her fingers, then her hand, arm, and shoulders. She let out a long breath and composed herself. 

When she looked up, Sousa was quietly leafing through his own notebook. He saw her straighten up and said, "I've been thinking: Victor's out of work, so they've got to be living on Claire's income, right? Plus whatever they've got saved and he got from the army. It won't be much. We're going to have to dress the part."

Back on firm ground, Peggy nodded. "I have a few things at home that should pass muster. I doubt there are many women's costumes stashed in the SRR basements."

"Probably not," Sousa said. "But I was wondering: how much would Claire be making, anyway? If anyone asks where we live, it's gotta be believable. Have you decided where she's working?"

"The phone company seemed appropriate," she replied, and Sousa chuckled. 

By the time Angie arrived with their coffees they were deep in discussion about the Jamesons' finances. "Man, I would _not_ want your job right now, English," she said, putting down their coffees. "All those numbers spinnin' round my head? It would not end well, I'll tell you that much."

 


	3. Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disguises, lies and stories about Captain America: all par for the course for an SSR mission.
>
>> Victor would be determined to do everything normally, he decided, so he got out of the taxi opened P– _Claire's_ door for her. She took his hand with a shy little smile and looked around with wide eyes, then tugged on her clothes and smoothed back her hair like she was nervous. 
>> 
>> She was _so_ good at this. Had she even had to think about it? Daniel squeezed her hand. "Claire, honey, you look great. Don't worry 'bout it."
> 
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Daniel tugged on his collar, trying to stretch it out enough to breathe comfortably while he waited for Peggy. It hadn't been _that_ long since he'd worn this thing, and since when did neck sizes change?

He forced himself to stop fidgeting when yet another person nodded politely as they walked past on their way out of the lobby; some of them were SRR cover staff, like Rose, who winked at him as she went, but others really thought this was a phone company, and Daniel hadn't realised he'd be noticed so much.

"Looking sharp there, Sousa," Thompson said from behind him, walking in with a sandwich and smirking. "You got a date or something?" 

"Just with the prettiest girl in town, Jack. How 'bout you?"

He shrugged. "Chief wants me to set up a roster for watching Stark's properties _and_ put together a file on all known covert transmitters while the lab rats try to figure out that typewriter," he said, satisfied and only barely quiet enough not to be heard by the people walking by

"Sounds important," Daniel told him, leaning back against the wall. "Might even make up for being up there by yourself all night."

Thompson snorted. "Where is Marge, anyway? Gotta compliment her on the great catch."

"Peggy," said Daniel, "is in the ladies' room back that way. Did you know there isn't one on our floor?"

"Never looked," he replied with a shrug, and headed off again towards the elevators, saluting with his sandwich. "Good luck with Bennett."

"Thanks," said Daniel. "You too." _Ass._

A few more people went by, nodding at him. Daniel resisted the urge to check his watch; he'd gotten here ten minutes early, but now she was definitely late. 

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and let his crutch arm relax for a minute. As long as he didn't try to walk, the prosthetic could take enough of his weight to keep his balance, and if was going to be on his feet all night, better to get what rest he could now. 

He'd just about resigned himself to finding a place to sit when Peggy hurried out, looking around for him; Daniel straightened up and waved an arm. She saw it and swerved in his direction. 

"Sorry about that," she said, "I'm out of practice with this style; had to start over twice–" She stopped, startled by something, and looked at him long enough to make him feel awkward.

"Have I got something in my teeth?" he asked. Peggy blinked and shook her head. 

"Oh, no– Sorry. I didn't realise you'd be wearing that."

Daniel tugged self-consciously at his dress uniform. The neck was definitely too tight. He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."

"It is. I just didn't expect it." She shook her head again. "I rather wish I could wear mine."

That'd be a sight. Too bad she couldn't. Daniel shrugged and offered his arm. "Are you ready, Claire?"

"Yes of _course_ , Victor darling," she replied in her Brooklyn accent, taking it. "I heard it's going to be _lovely_. It's so nice we're invited somewhere so fancy!" 

Daniel screwed up his face, careful not to pull her arm up or down as he led them out the door. "God, that's strange."

Peggy frowned, hailing a taxi. "You think it's too much?"

"No, I think it's great," he said. "Just different."

She looked different too, Daniel thought as he opened the door for her, but he couldn't really figure out why. Her hair was pulled back tight and her dress was a worn-out sort of fancy, something Claire Jameson could just afford, but it was something else, in her face... Oh. _Geez, Danny, you idiot_. She'd done her makeup different. Light pink lipstick was the only part he could pin down, but she looked paler, sort of tired, and the lines edging her eyes weren't so dark. Between that and the way she was carrying herself, sitting with her shoulders curled forward, she'd made herself look smaller, meek and shy. For sure, no one would look at her and think 'federal agent'.

As the driver wove them through traffic, Daniel tried slowly changing the way he sat, leaning back casually for a few minutes, then tucking his arms close and hunching over for the next few, thinking about how it might make him look to other people. They were building so much of Victor on him directly, he hadn't really thought about making up any kind of character, but if it could help the mission... 

What kind of guy would Bennett talk to, anyway? He was a general, he wasn't going to talk shop with a sergeant. The only thing they had in common was the purple heart, and half the men there would have one of those. The music angle was his best chance, but he'd still have to make Bennett like him. Should he go for being a funny guy, cracking jokes? No, that could make it seem like losing his leg was no big deal to Victor, and make him hard to relate to. A quiet or shy Victor would be easier to pull off but Bennett wouldn't talk to him. Or would he? 

They didn't really know what kind of a man the general was. He liked fishing, the outdoors, the violin and Howard Stark. That didn't help much, but it was a start. He'd come from a well-off family, gone to college and joined the army as an officer long before the war started. He'd been a decent soldier, according to his war record; took initiative on the field and had gotten some commendations for improving procedures and for some kind of innovative gadget that let men comfortably carry a bigger load which hadn't been described very well in the file. There was a lot they didn't know, and what they didn't know could have a big impact, but the picture coming together in Daniel's head was of a man who was independent and fairly creative: Someone who could figure out a way to hide Stark, yes, but also a guy who would hate not being able to do something on his own. 

Daniel knew what that was like, everyone trying to help you all the time, assuming you couldn't do even basic stuff anymore alone. He was almost lucky in that way; once he was at his desk every morning, he could do everything the other guys could. He almost felt normal. But Bennett? What could you still do without a thumb?

Traffic was pretty bad and just now, though they were getting close, so Daniel had a few minutes to spare. His crutch was sitting loosely on his lap, so he tried lifting and turning it over with just the four fingers of his right hand; he could curl them around the thin poles and handgrip well enough, but when he tried spanning his grip across the gap between two poles he couldn't press the near end against his palm for leverage and it slipped. (Peggy glanced at him as it clattered against the driver's seat; he shrugged sheepishly.) He tried undoing and refastening a button on his coat, and that was easy enough as long as he used both hands, but pens and any sort of writing would be out of the question. Bennett was probably learning to write with his left hand. 

"Here," Peggy said quietly, startling him out of his thoughts. "We'll need these." She took something from her purse and pushed it into his hand.

It was a wedding ring. Of course; can't pretend to be married without rings. Daniel slipped it on (it was a bit loose; she must have guessed the sizes) and watched her do the same with her smaller one. They matched; plain gold bands, no markings on them. It was strange. 

(Kind of nice, though.)

Belatedly Daniel realised the biggest performance he'd have to pull off tonight was pretending to be married to Peg– to 'Claire', and that was intimidating enough that he spent the whole rest of the ride thinking about it. 

Victor would be determined to do everything normally, he decided as they pulled up, so he paid the fare and climbed out first to open P– _Claire's_ door for her. She took his hand with a shy little smile and looked up at the building's fancy facade and all the lighted windows with wide eyes, then tugged on her clothes and smoothed back her hair like she was nervous. 

She was _so_ good at this. Had she even had to think about it? Daniel squeezed her hand. "Claire, honey, you look great. Don't worry 'bout it."

Peggy ducked her head and smiled shyly at him. 

Inside _was_ fancy, with huge vases of flowers on the buffet tables, a live band and big splashes of colour in every rich dame's dress. Lots of guys in uniform too, most of them with more rank than he could dream of, but there 

were some GIs in plainer uniforms standing around one corner with their wives, most of them looking a bit out of their comfort zone and thoroughly middle-class. Peggy started walking them that way, for some reason; Daniel tugged on her arm.

"We need to find Bennett," he said under his breath.

"First we need to blend in. I don't think he's free just now anyway," she replied and tilted her head to their left; Daniel looked over his shoulder but couldn't pick the man out of the crowd. 

"Right, yeah." He started off towards the GIs. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "It's fine."

They nodded and smiled at people as they made their way into the rich part of crowd and got the same in return, but no one tried to talk to them. Daniel bristled at some of the looks they got; pity for him, openly studying his legs to work out which one he'd lost, and was it gone or just mangled? For Peggy, muted support or sympathy from the women and the occasional approving grin from men, even once a sly wink after a guy looked her up and down right in front of Daniel, as if he wouldn't notice! Victor would be as angry about that as he was, so Daniel didn't try too hard to hold back his scowl. Peggy just ducked her head and clung shyly to his arm.

"Can you believe that guy?" he muttered when they were clear of the thickest part of the crowd.

"I thought he recognised me," she replied, worried. "I brought some glasses, maybe I should put them on..."

Daniel turned to her, narrowly avoiding someone's stray hand as they gestured with a full glass of wine. "You know him?"

"Reginald Holtz: he owns a lot of steel factories. And no, we've never met, but he's always at these sorts of parties. Howard would throw them all the time. You wouldn't believe the expense."

Daniel blinked, reeling, and nodded quietly. They kept walking. 

It had just hit him that they were here to gather intel for hunting down her _friend_ , and he was kicking himself for not realising it sooner. Stark wasn't just a comrade or associate to her; they were friends. She hadn't said it in those words, but she'd mentioned Stark a few times before this whole thing started, a bit of intel or an anecdote about the war, usually with a dry recount of something idiotic he'd done and a fond roll of her eyes. Daniel hadn't really thought about it, even when she'd argued with Dooley, but you don't knock a guy in the Thames and still defend him against charges of treason for anything less. 

He squeezed her hand. "Are you, uh... you okay with this?" he asked. "This mission, I mean. If Bennett knows where Stark is and we can get it out of him, we're going to be putting him that much closer to the noose."

"If Howard really is guilty, I'll hang him myself," said Peggy, and there was a thread of steel in her voice, a promise more to Stark than to him, and Daniel believed her. She could have been quieter, though, and after a second she blinked and dropped back into her meek, clingy character, and smiled with awkward gratitude when a waiter offered them drinks. Daniel looked around – it didn't seem like anyone had heard her – and shook his head at the waiter; after seeing Holtz, Victor had decided he'd rather keep his free arm around his wife's than use it for holding a drink.

"But you think he's innocent," he said when they were in the clear again. She nodded and took a sip of wine; her eyes lit up and she took another sip, then held the glass out to him with a bright smile. He took it carefully and tried some. 

She kept smiling, and it was starting to look forced. "Doesn't it bother you that we're approaching this case as though it's a indisputable fact that Howard is guilty?"

Daniel swallowed without really tasting and put on an impressed look to match hers, twisting the glass stem in his fingers. "Yeah. It does."

 

They mingled with the other free-entry couples for a good half hour. Peggy maintained her shy, awed cover with the other women, mostly silent and fidgeting awkwardly until she was able to drop in a comment about how she was having _such_ trouble with Victor's prosthetic wearing thin spots in his clothes, setting it up for the others to jump in and start explaining how they were sewing in patches to prevent just that. Then she was able to listen politely and seem like part of the conversation without having to pay too much attention; these weren't the class of women who would know if any of Howard's regular paramours had slipped off with him, but Claire would feel most comfortable around them, and standing in their circle nodding a lot gave her a chance to study the room. (She found herself assessing the exits and too: old habit.)

Just behind her, Sousa was talking with some of the other injured men, mostly sharing war stories and comparing injuries. Every time a new veteran joined their circle they started again, and Peggy wondered what it must be like, having to describe such a painful injury over and over like that. He kept it up in a jolly fashion, downplaying it to an inconvenience and irritation that he couldn't stay on the front with his friends, but on the fourth retelling another man asked, "How did you get out at all, Jameson? Blockade like that, dead of winter; seems like it'd be pretty hopeless for you in a field hospital."

"Oh. Er, yeah. It was pretty bad," said Sousa. "Actually... Captain America saved us."

Peggy almost broke cover in surprise. She forced her head not to turn and listened intently. 

The other men were all chattering like hens, asking what it was like, did Steve really do this or that, was he really seven feet tall, could he _really_ carry an entire truck on his own? 

"I didn't meet him, guys; I was out cold most of the time," said Sousa. He shuffled on the spot, shifting his weight on his crutch; Peggy was starting to recognise it as something he did when uncomfortable with a situation. "But if you want a laugh, one of my guys said Cap carried me out of the field hospital, but I think he was just pulling my leg. Well, the other one," he added, provoking some laughs. "I didn't know what'd happened till it was over."

The men groaned in disappointment that didn't last very long; Alice Bolger's husband had seen Steve once too, from a distance, at night, but of course he was sure, the uniform was blue, right? Sousa didn't say much for a while after that, and if not for the occasional glimpse of him just over her shoulder, Peggy might have wondered if he'd gone.

Her study of the room finally paid off another ten minutes later: A doorway on the far side of the room, partially obscured by a large plant, opened and General Bennett came out with a man who was probably his aide, Walter Payne. They looked like they'd just finished talking business and as she rolled up on her toes she could see them drifting off into different parts of the crowd. 

She studied his behaviour for a few minutes, then elbowed Sousa, gave it three seconds, turned and slipped her hand through his elbow, smiling shyly at the other men. "Darling," she said quietly, "might we...?" She tugged on his arm.

For a moment he blinked at her, going red in the cheeks, but he snapped out of it and excused them to the others.

"Are you all right?" she asked as they stepped away.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Peggy nodded. "Bennett is greeting the wealthiest contributors and moving between groups every three or four minutes. If we work our way over slowly we shouldn't seem too out of place, and we should be able to get you to Bennett without too many detours. Are you ready?"

He shook himself a little and puffed out a sharp breath. "Guess we'll find out."

"You'll do fine," said Peggy, turning her head quickly away from Mr Holtz as they passed him. "Do you have your approach tactics sorted?"

Sousa nodded. "Bennett's not the kind of guy who'll have taken losing his thumb well; real independent sort, likes taking matters into his own hands," he said quietly. "Plus Bolger back there says he doesn't have much of a sense of humour, which fits. Sounds like he's not up for small talk tonight, right? But he's big on manners but he's probably had too many people bring up his hand, so I'm going to keep it about me, get right into thanking him for doing this, maybe sprinkle in a thing or two to stoke his ego, keep him feeling on top and all."

Peggy nodded, but frowned. "What do you mean, it 'fits' that he doesn't have a sense of humour? Fits with what?"

"Er..." Sousa ducked his head as they moved into the thicker part of the rich crowd, steering clear of the buffet tables where they could. "Well, uh, a lot of guys I knew in the hospital got pretty bitter after it settled in that, you know, this is it," he gestured to his leg. "No going back."

"But not you?"

He shrugged, keeping his eyes forward, on the crowd. "For a while. Then I figured, might as well just get on with it, you know? Actually it was my dad that said that, I just listened. Good advice, you know. Should've thought of it myself–"

He was babbling; his nerves must be getting to him. Peggy squeezed his arm and slowed them down. "Your father sounds like a wise man." 

Daniel looked at her, a little... relieved? And smiled. And then, stroke of poor luck, his crutch slid on the polished floor and he toppled into this side of a large man in a tuxedo, who stumbled. Peggy held tight to Sousa's arm, keeping him on his feet, but couldn't help the man keep a grip on his wine glass, which shattered on the floor over and sprayed their ankles

"Oh– geez, I'm sorry. Sorry," said Sousa, steadying himself. He automatically leaned over to help, then wobbled and straightened up; Peggy waited to relax her grip until he was stable. "Sorry," he said again. 

The tuxedoed man waved it off and signalled over their heads to the staff. He frowned thoughtfully at Sousa. "Would better materials help with that?" he asked, pointing at his leg. "Stronger stuff, lighter? Would it help with balance?"

"Uh– For some guys, yeah," Sousa replied, backing up so one of the staff could mop up the mess. His fingers flexed under Peggy's hand. "Most of them can take the weight but they're hard to bend."

The man nodded, thinking. "Useful," he said, and nodded sharply. "Thanks, soldier." He turned back to his party and said, "Now that's what I meant. Too many practical problems. The manufacturers are key here..."

Peggy shook her head and they stepped carefully around the puddle, Sousa being extra cautious with where he set his crutch. "That was fortunate," she remarked. 

"Yeah," said Daniel wryly, eyes down and clearly still embarrassed. "Bit different from dating Steve Rogers, huh?"

Peggy couldn't help it; she snorted. "Steve," she replied, "was the most awkward, clumsy, thick-headed stammerer I've ever known. I lost track of how much damage he did those first few weeks. You have nothing to worry about."

Daniel looked sceptical, but less humiliated. That was progress. "Clumsy?" he repeated. "You mean before he got the serum."

"No, after. He couldn't get used to being taller; knocked his head into everything, broke off door handles just trying to open them." She smiled at the memory and decided, why not share? "I think the record goes to the evening after Dr Erskine's wake: He was trying to help prepare dinner – he felt bad because he was suddenly eating so much, I suppose – and I don't know how it happened, but when we got there the preparation table was down two legs, all the platters were on the floor, the rail that the saucepans hung on had fallen, food was splashed _very_ high up on the walls, most of the dishes were broken, and _he_ ," Peggy had to fight down her laugh before it could burst out too loudly to cover, "he'd landed in a bag of flour and dusted half the room, including himself."

Beside her, Daniel's eyes were huge and he looked torn between suspicion and laughing like mad. "Really?" he asked. "You're not messing with me are you, Carter?"

"On my honour. He swears he was only trying to chop the potatoes. "

Daniel laughed, choking it down just enough not to draw attention and ending up snorting through his nose. They were hovering beside a buffet table now, watching surreptitiously and waiting for Bennett to move on from what looked like an intense conversation with another general, and he was able to turn into her shoulder to hide it, shoulders shaking with buried giggles. It took a minute, but he gathered himself and shook his head. "I don't know, that's a pretty hard sell..."

He was teasing; Peggy was about to jostle him lightly in return, and remembered just in time. She settled for putting her nose in the air in the British manner that always had Dugan in stitches. "I'll have you know I have witnesses. Many witnesses."

"Really? I'll have to see them to be sure."

"I'll assemble the list. 'Steve spotting' was a popular diversion in those weeks. Howard came up with all sorts of awful nicknames for him."

Daniel chuckled again, and he was looking at her with a touch of... sadness? She couldn't place it. "Wish I'd seen it," was all he said.

A few feet away, Bennett's companion was nodding and looking ready to walk away. Daniel took a steadying breath. "Do you think any of the ladies will have intel for you?"

Peggy bit back a frown; she'd been planning to approach Bennett with him and try to bring up the Jarvises in what little chance for small talk they'd have. "I'm sure at least some are to his taste," she replied dryly. There was another middle-class woman trying to mingle a short distance away, and rescuing her would probably be the easiest way to slip into a conversation. "I'll get something."

"I'm sure you will," said Daniel, watching Bennett. It was time. "You ready?"

"I think we both are."


	4. Improvisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel gets to work small talking with General Bennett and Peggy makes a discovery.

 

"Victor Jameson," Daniel said to the general. At the last second he decided not to offer a hand to shake; Bennett probably didn't like anyone touching his thumbless right hand and Daniel couldn't use his left. He managed to cover the aborted movement by steadying himself on the nearest table. "I just wanted to thank you for your efforts, sir. Being noticed like this – it means a lot to guys like me."

Bennett nodded sagely, only about half his attention on the conversation; his eyes flickered over Daniel's head often. "War is rough," he said. "Everyone loses."

"Yeah– Yes, we lose more than we expect," said Daniel. "I mean, me, I always wanted to play–" he gestured to the band; they didn't have a trumpet, but the trombone was close enough, "–and be in a marching band someday, you know? Seemed like so much fun. And now..." He shrugged sadly.

It wasn't the right angle to take, and Daniel knew it the second the words fell out of his mouth; Bennett's face clouded over and he said, "Be glad you can still play, son."

He should've gone with another instrument. Or found some better connection than a marching band. Maybe piano really did need both feet for pedals? He should have looked that up instead of arguing about wedding dates.

"I know, I should be grateful: Lots of men never came back at all," he hurried on, "but it's hard, you know? You want to do something, something you've been working at, something you love, and you realise – it's never going to happen. War's supposed to be over, but for us..." He put on the same air of sadness that hadn't quite fooled Peggy yesterday, eyes down, fighting very very hard against the temptation to look up to see if it was working. 

Bennett didn't end the conversation. That was something. Daniel fiddled, trying to pull all the intel and threads of ideas in his head into something useful. "I'm sorry, sir, that was... I just wanted to thank you. For all this. No one else would've thought to do anything like it."

It was a weak save, but it got them back into safe territory. Bennett nodded neatly, taking the compliment. "I do what I can."

Daniel nodded and turned to accept a glass of wine from the waiter whose entire job seemed to be keeping the general supplied. That, and stopping to take a sip of the red and 'mmm' approvingly at the taste, gave him a minute to think. Flattering Bennett's initiative had worked, but it hardly left any openings to bring up that Stark had been generous with his money too. 

Bennett was using his right hand to hold the glass, Daniel noticed; without his thumb to steady it, he'd improvised by having his palm up with the glass stem between his third and fourth fingers, using his four fingertips and palm to stabilise it. 

"That's a good idea," he observed, out loud, and Bennett looked puzzled. Daniel quickly gestured to the glass. "Finding ways around our problems, if we can't solve them. I think it's better to find what works than only try to adjust old ways. Don't you?"

"Hmm, perhaps," said Bennett. He was sounding bored (no wonder, this was about as long as he'd talked to anyone yet) and Daniel scrambled to find any lead in to Stark. Their research said Stark mostly donated, didn't have any specific research into improvements going on, so he couldn't go down the science road. The government bought soldiers' prostheses from the lowest bidder, so complaining about the substandard manufacturing was out, but Daniel had a feeling the general would be getting a better one privately anyway... and Stark Industries owned a few companies that made parts which went into the expensive prostheses. 

"At least until Uncle Sam gets us better solutions to our problems," Daniel went on as smoothly as he could, tapping his leg. "Where will you be getting yours?" he asked. "I heard Roxxon might be getting into the business."

Bennett snorted. "Don't believe everything you hear. Jones doesn't get into anything that isn't a lot more lucrative than this will ever be."

Maybe Jones was here tonight too. He knew Peggy's face; he could blow their cover if... _Not now._ "I guess Stark is out of the question too, then," he said. "Even if he does turn up innocent."

Either Bennett desperately wanted to talk about anything other than his hand or he really did believe in Stark as much as Peggy did: For the first time he looked at Daniel with interest. "Possibly. The man isn't known for being predictable – unless it comes to women."

Daniel chuckled. "So I've heard. Honestly, I'm kind of glad he's on the run right now. Otherwise he'd probably be here and I'd be afraid to leave my wife alone."

"He isn't quite that bad," said Bennett. "The man has some standards of decency, even if he has no shame."

"Decency? This is the man who's been selling his crazy inventions to the enemy. I don't know if I'd trust him to loan me a newspaper."

" _If_ he's selling," Bennett replied, and he leaned in a little. "There's no proof, Sergeant. Remember that."

That was... Daniel couldn't quite read what he meant by that. He nodded. "Yes, sir. Things aren't always what they seem, are they?"

"Exactly. And if Stark is innocent, he's going to need all the friends he can get to prove it." Bennett sighed heavily. "But he chose to run. Bad move; looks very bad. He should have stayed close and cooperated. He'd have had a fair trial."

Daniel hesitated, losing his footing in the conversation. It seemed way too good that _Bennett_ was the one bringing up the question of where Stark was now. "It would have been a smart move," he agreed. "If he's innocent, it doesn't make sense to run; where could he go to prove it that's better than here?"

Again, Bennett looked at him intently, trying to read something Daniel couldn't guess at. "Nowhere I can think of," he said at last. "Can you?"

He'd just _said_... Daniel made himself shrug nonchalantly. "I wish I did; might be able to help him get that fair trial."

Suddenly Bennett closed off completely, stepping back and putting on a blank face. "That's very good of you, Sergeant." His shoulder twitched very subtly and he, glanced quickly to the right, so fast Daniel almost missed it. "We were lucky to have men like you in the service."

Lieutenant Payne, Bennett's aide, appeared behind Daniel. "I'm sorry, General, but if you have a minute...?"

"Excuse me, son," said Bennett, and clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to unbalance him, and by the time Daniel had set his wine glass safely on the table, they were gone.

 

Peggy's cheeks ached; her jaw felt worse. If she had to smile that widely again any time soon, she was sorely concerned that her face might crack: That was the reason she'd give, if she had to, for why she was glad to see Sousa's conversation with Bennett end. 

Excusing herself from the ladies and their _fascinating_ discussion of this year's Academy Awards scandals, Peggy wove her way through the crowd until Sousa saw her and jerked her head towards a stretch of wall with more tall potted plants and fewer people, a good place for a shy couple to take a breather. He met her there a minute later. 

"That looked like a productive conversation," she said. "How did it go?"

He shook his head slowly, looking lost. "I have... no idea what just happened," he confessed. "I bring up Stark, he gets all interested, says these cryptic things about how Stark should've stuck around, then just– leaves."

Peggy frowned. "Odd. Did you get anything out of him before that? Can he find Howard?"

Sousa shook his head. "I don't think he knows anything. Maybe even less than he's pretending to. It was hard to figure him out. But," he went on, trying to sound brighter, "he definitely thinks Stark's innocent; wouldn't stop arguing the point."

Her heart leapt, and she didn't have to hide it. "Were they convincing arguments?"

"Had a few good points," said Sousa, offering her a smile. "Maybe you are right. I'm starting to hope so. I'll make sure Dooley knows," he added; "that's what you wanted, right?"

"It is, Daniel, thank you," she said. "I'm grateful." And relieved; maybe there would be no need to manipulate conversation into bringing up Mr Jarvis' story. He'd certainly appreciate the privacy.

Sousa nodded and leaned his left shoulder against the wall, resting for a moment. "Did you have better luck?"

Peggy scowled. "Unfortunately not. The women here have a great many things to say about Howard but nothing new. I have at least twenty names of women he _might_ have taken home but none of them have recently taken an overnight holiday. Not that anyone knows of, at least."

"Great," groaned Daniel. "So we got nothing. At all. Chief's going to be real proud of us; I can hear Thompson already."

"We have strong indications of where Howard isn't," said Peggy, though she knew she was reaching. "That's a start. He very likely isn't in New York, or receiving assistance from General Bennett."

"Yeah, that just leaves the whole rest of the world. And everywhere in New York that Bennett and this crowd doesn't know about." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

He was right, of course, and Peggy was facing all that plus a lot more on this godforsaken mission for Howard. She sighed heavily and leaned against the wall beside him. "I suppose this mission never had any real chance of uncovering useful information in the first place."

"That's probably why they gave it to us," Daniel replied sourly. 

"Mmm. I'd love to prove them wrong," said Peggy. If it weren't that proving them wrong meant implicating Howard, that is. Daniel nudged her.

"We'll get a chance, Carter," he said. "Me, I'm going to write some glowing paragraphs in my report about how well you made yourself blend in here. You could probably pull off any covert operation you wanted."

Yes, that would perfect, wouldn't it? And then he'd be right back to studying those photographs from Raymond's club with that thought rolling around in his head. But he meant well, and she returned the compliment sincerely: "And I intend to make sure Dooley is made aware of your analysis regarding the general's behaviour and how to angle information out of him. You'd be very good in the interrogation room, if they ever give you a chance."

"Thanks," he said. "Claire," he added quickly as one of the soldiers he'd been talking with earlier walked by. Peggy put on a shy smile and curled towards Sousa a little more; if she could blush on command, it would have worked better.

Sousa waited until the man was well away before he slumped back again. "Now what?"

With a casual shrug Peggy said, "I suppose I could try talking to Bennett. He hasn't seen us together so it shouldn't raise suspicions. If you don't mind?" she added as a courtesy. Sousa shook his head.

"Maybe you'll have better luck. But we should wait a while: Whatever he ran off for it's either genuinely important or because I slipped up and tipped him off. Better let that cool off for a bit."

She nodded. "You're right. I imagine Claire and Victor have had enough of this side of the room for a while anyway. I hope it won't be too arduous for you to swap war stories with the men again? I know discussing how to sew patches appeals more to me right now than hearing about Howard's _three_ dates at the awards ceremony."

Sousa snorted, rolling his eyes, but said, "If we don't want Bennett to be suspicious of you, maybe we should keep apart."

Peggy hesitated; he was curious enough to ask and observant enough to notice the changes she would make to her look to keep Bennett from identifying her to anyone, SSR included, but the last thing she wanted to do was let Sousa realise how easily a blonde wig could confuse identities. She deflected: "I brought some glasses with a thick enough frame that it should make it very hard for anyone to remember my features. And I can add a few distinctive details to my dress that will be all he remembers in hindsight." Splashes of colour, mostly, but no need to give details; hopefully he wouldn't have much time to examine her disguise. She pushed off the wall and offered a hand to help him straighten up, as they'd agreed Claire would do for him. 

"That easy, huh?" asked Sousa, and Peggy nodded. "Any tips for me, for next time?"

"Glasses," she replied as they walked around the edge of the room, avoiding the densest part of the crowd. "You'd be surprised how well they work. But–" and she felt cruel saying it, it _was_ cruel, but she had to stop this discussion right now, distract him as much as possible, no matter what the method "–I'm afraid your most distinctive feature isn't one that can be hidden."

His crutch clicked loudly in the silence. Behind them, a woman giggled loudly, and nearby a group toasted to something with a series of loud _clink_ s. Daniel went eight steps before he sighed and said, "I guess you're right."

Peggy squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry."

"You're honest," he replied, and put on a smile. "Don't worry about it." 

 

It was an hour before Bennett began mingling with his less wealthy guests again, and Sousa insisted on waiting another twenty minutes just in case he had let too much slip.

Peggy's chance finally came when Bennett excused himself to use the loo; the nondescript door leading away from the party wasn't quite as well disguised as the ones behind the tall plants, but it weren't well watched either. It led to a small corridor that ran alongside the back of the room with both the men's' and ladies' rooms at one end. Peggy had counted her steps last time she'd popped in; if she waited about twelve seconds after Bennett went into the corridor, she could slip in after him unnoticed, have time to adjust her costume, and be able to act like she was just entering as he left.

Why she had to corner him in a corridor, away from prying ears, she couldn't very well explain to Sousa, and he frowned when she excused it by saying she doubted there would be a chance out among all the other guests. "I'm neither wealthy nor injured enough to be of interest to him. Out here he could find an excuse to leave as he did with you; in there it would be rude. You said he takes pride in his manners, right?"

"Yeah," Sousa admitted grudgingly, following her, and he planted himself discreetly outside the corridor door. "Just in case," he said. "If he comes out first I'll pretend I don't know you."

Her twelve seconds were already up; she didn't argue. 

Inside, she checked for anyone else returning from the loo, then hurried a few steps in the other direction, which, if her memory of the building layout was right, should eventually lead to the kitchens and the other door which the staff used to refill plates and glasses. The walls here weren't thick enough to keep out the noise of the party so she couldn't trust her ears for warning, but she hadn't much to do.

Her disguise was the glasses she'd brought, thick framed and slanting at such a steep angle that it obscured her eyebrows and cheekbones, a heavy necklace with several strings of faux pearls and a long gauzy wrap with glittering embroidery, enough to cover and distract from her dull dress. She pulled two pins from her hair to let loose a portion that would be easy to wrap back up, added a comb of glass beads and put on a bright layer of lipstick. She looked overdone and ridiculous by her own standards, but it all went on quickly and could be lost just as fast. An Irish accent too, she decided; the more distracting details, the better.

She scurried back to the main door, slowed to a crawl on her trek to the ladies' room and made a show of rummaging in her purse. Another man emerged before Bennett did and Peggy kept her head down, hiding her face in her purse, but he wasn't one of the wounded men she'd spent time around this evening and he walked away without paying any attention. 

When Bennett did come out, Peggy didn't bother pretending to bump into him by accident; she strode ahead to meet him. "General Bennett," she said, keeping her voice down enough so Sousa couldn't hear through the wall, "I understand you believe Howard Stark is innocent."

He was instantly wary, of course, but covered it up well. "As I've said, publically," he replied smoothly after a moment. "You can read most of it in last week's _Ledger_."

"I have. I also understand you knew him during the war, and witnessed the lengths to which he went to save one of your men from the noose."

Bennett stopped short. "How do you know about that?"

Peggy kept her face blank; Mr Jarvis hadn't gone into great detail, but she'd assumed the incident had been known within the upper ranks of the British military. If not, she'd just announced her acquaintance with Howard, at least as far as Mr Jarvis. That was no bad thing here, as long as Sousa didn't hear it, but from Bennett's perspective... Yes, it could seem like a threat to implicate him in Howard's crimes. "It's all right, General. We're on the same side here."

He nodded slowly. "Yes. I believe we are." He took another step forward. "How may I help you, Miss...?"

She smiled coyly; it was a smile that said, _You know how this works, sir. No names_. "I speak for Mr Stark. Your efforts on his behalf are vey much appreciated, but proclaiming his innocence isn't having any real affect with those who can clear his name. You are, however, in a position to do more than that."

Bennett looked around behind him, then over her head, and said in a low voice, "If you think I can do more, Miss, do tell. I have many resources at my disposal."

Peggy felt herself smile and ploughed ahead, keeping her false accent as strong as possible. "The problem is that no one is really thinking about who _did_ steal Howard's inventions. If you were to bring up the issue, and toss around phrases like 'framed for theft', it will provoke the public into asking who else might be out there with those weapons. Their fear will put pressure on the authorities to pursue other avenues. Can you do that, General?"

As she spoke, his expression faded from gleaming interest to guarded caution, though he'd kept up the mask admirably, and it made Peggy wary. This wasn't much she was asking of him; in fact, it was no harder than anything he'd been doing already. Why was he worried?

He glanced over her head again, and his shoulder twitched very subtly. He regarded her carefully. "Do you know where he is, Miss?"

Wariness exploded into alarm. Peggy tensed, muscles coiling, and she took a step back.

It was a mistake; Bennett swooped in. "You're under arrest for aiding and abetting the fugitive Howard Stark."

 


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught, Peggy and Daniel have to fight, lie and trick their way out before they can be arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three rewrites later, I bring you a chapter!

 

A _trap_ , it was all a bloody _trap_. Meant for Howard, but she'd fallen in instead.

It was so obvious now. What was it Sousa had said? _Independent sort, likes taking matters into his own hands._ He'd been all too right. And why hadn't she questioned why the man who wouldn't save Anna Jarvis would so openly help Howard? 

But Dooley had been right too: The man was overconfident. He hadn't expected an intermediary instead of Howard himself, and if he let her go he would technically be abetting. His choices now were down to one: Use her to find Howard directly.

Peggy's choices were to stop him: Painfully or not.

She ducked under his left arm before he could grab her, pulled the hand back, twisted and kicked, smashing his nose in a spray of blood. Off balance, he stumbled and she used the momentum to throw him into the wall. She leapt sideways and turned, ready to run– And saw who he'd been glancing at over her head.

Lieutenant Payne, Bennett's aide, was ten feet away, flanked by two more men and closing fast. She wouldn't be able to get back to the party, let alone shed her disguise.

Painfully it was, then.

 

Daniel had been antsy from the second she disappeared through that door. It was stupid, he couldn't say why; something was wrong, _off_ – but he couldn't say why. Carter obviously knew what she was doing, and what she said about cornering Bennett where he couldn't politely slip away made sense, sort of. He couldn't see any flaws in her logic, he just... didn't like it. 

So when something hit the wall behind him with a dull _thud_ , he didn't think twice: He whirled around and rushed through the door. 

Several feet away, three guys were advancing down the corridor, their backs to him, and just past them: Peggy, with Bennett crumpled on the floor behind her. She was pulling off a fancy wrap and twisting it into a rope, bracing herself for a fight. They were almost on her.

And he was eight steps away. 

Peggy yanked her wrap taut and looped it over the head of first man who reached her, kicked the second out of her way and used her noose to throw the first man into the wall, right into the path of the last one, Payne, delaying him. The first man hit head first and collapsed. 

Six steps. 

The second man reached her. He was big, heavy, harder knock down; she didn't try. She stepped past him down his left side, blocked his arm and jabbed him hard in the throat. He dropped like a stone, choking. 

Three steps.

But Payne was already on her, and Peggy was off balance from her strike. He got her in a headlock with one sharp jerk of his arm and dragged her back, over the bodies of the other guys so she couldn't keep her footing. She twisted and grabbed a comb from her hair and blindly slashed it backwards, trying to shake him.

One.

Daniel braced himself on his good leg, lifted his crutch and slammed it into Payne's head. He howled, Peggy broke free and Daniel flipped his crutch up into both hands to hook it around the man's neck in a much more deadly headlock. 

Peggy lunged forward without looking back at them– to charge at Bennett, who was pulling himself up. She swept up her handbag from the floor and flung it at him, straight at his thumbless hand. He fumbled, failed to catch it, and while he was distracted Peggy socked him in the jaw so hard Daniel _heard_ the crack of his neck snapping back. 

Payne was struggling, jerking from side to side and hauling forward on the crutch as he tried to break loose. Daniel had the pole jammed hard against the man's throat but he couldn't hold forever, not on one leg. Done with Bennett, Peggy turned, took in the problem with one glance and kicked Payne in the balls, then the gut. He slumped, lost his grip on the pole, and Daniel tightened his hold until the man passed out. 

Then he tried really hard not to fall over. His bad leg had taken too much weight too suddenly and was screaming at him, and he scrambled to get his crutch under him in time. He sucked in a sharp breath and breathed slowly, forcing the pain down. 

Peggy was panting, but had barely a hair out of place for all that had... "What happened?"

She opened her mouth; closed it. Then: "He tried to kiss me."

Daniel looked down at the four bodies, most of them bleeding. He nodded. "Would've done the same."

For a second, she might have smiled– but they had no time to spare. The noise of the party was coming through the wall and any second someone could could walk in on them. They had to get out, _now_ , without being seen or even remembered because the second Bennett and his men were found there would be chaos, and if they were arrested...

Well, Thompson would never shut up.

Peggy was already on it: she snatched up her wrap and the comb and a pair of glasses from the floor and shoved them in her handbag, and grabbed Payne under the arms to drag him down the corridor, past the door and out of the path of anyone needing the bathroom. "Look for a closet," she said. "An unused room, anything."

Daniel stepped past her, wincing as he went, and looked for doors: There weren't many, this was an access corridor to the kitchen, but there was a turn-off about twelve feet away that was dark, unused and probably safe enough; if anyone came by in the next five minutes, they'd be caught anyway. 

"Here," he said, and hurried back, but a sharp pain shot up his leg as he landed a step and he had to lean on the wall. Peggy didn't see; she was shuffling back as fast as she could, dragging Payne along until she could leave him out of sight around the corner. 

Daniel bent his good knee and grabbed the right arm of the next man, Peggy took the left and they started to pull, but it was obvious in a second that Daniel couldn't keep up. "Jam the door," Peggy said, taking the left arm. She heaved and the man, the heavy-set one, slowly slid along the wooden floor, but Daniel could see the strain in her arms. He hesitated and she snapped, "Go!"

He went. 

The door to the main room opened inwards, so he leaned against it. The corridor was narrow enough that he could brace his crutch on the opposite wall if he had to, which was good, since the strength of one leg wouldn't be enough. He strained his ears for the sound of water rushing through the bathroom faucets in case someone was about to come out from there, but it was impossible to tell. 

Peggy rushed back and took the next man by his ankles; he was thinner but tall and probably just as heavy. She was sweating and red in the face.

"Carter?"

"I'm fine. Figure out how we're going to get out of here."

He didn't have a chance: at that moment voices grew louder behind him and suddenly the handle at his hip was turning. He braced his crutch and held it shut, but Peggy was only halfway to the turn-off and Bennett was still crumpled on the ground three feet away. "Incoming!" he hissed. 

Her head jerked up and a split second later she dropped the thin soldier, rolled him against the wall closest to the main room so he wasn't in plain sight in the middle of the corridor, and ran back to get Bennett.

The person on the other side of the door was knocking and had started calling, "Hello?" If they had to wait much longer, they might start shouting and then half the party would know. 

Peggy hauled Bennett up by his uniform, ducked under Daniel's crutch and tried to run; she looked ready to collapse. 

It had to be a man on the other side of the door; he was pushing hard enough to move Daniel an inch at a time. "Can't hold it, Carter."

She dropped Bennett just behind the door– and pulled a tube of lipstick from her handbag. 

Daniel blinked, almost dropping his hold as she quickly rubbed a layer on. "Is this _really_ the time?"

"Sorry about this," she said, stepped up and kissed him.

Daniel almost fell over in surprise. 

Before he could think, before he could take in anything, she broke it and planted another one on his cheek, turning them around and away from the door so Daniel almost landed his crutch in Bennett's arm. He could feel her lips pressing hard, rubbing on his skin and _what_ was she _doing_? 

Behind them the door opened and a man came through, grumbling. Peggy jumped back and giggled loudly, the man looked at them–

And saw a sweaty woman and a GI with lipstick smeared on his face. 

_Oh_. Good job, Carter.

The open door blocked the man's view of Bennett; the two of them were blocking the rest of the corridor. If he looked around them he might see, but Daniel coughed pointedly at the guy and Peggy giggled again, and the man turned away; from politeness or embarrassment, it didn't matter. The moment he stepped into the bathroom Peggy turned and started dragging Bennett to the turn-off. 

Daniel peered through the door, watching for anyone else who might approach and waited for his heart to stop racing. It probably never would.

Behind him, he heard a thump, and glanced over to see Peggy pulling the last man around the corner. "We're clear," she whispered loudly. She hurried back and paused behind the door, pinning up her hair and wiping sweat from her forehead. She peeked out the door past him, assessed, and stepped back to pull out her compact. "How many bodyguards do you think Bennett has?"

Daniel paused, thinking back to his study of the guests and the general's habits. "Not many, he likes to think he can still fight. This might be all of them."

"Then let's hope no one else is missing him," said Peggy. She finished powdering, put the compact away, glanced at him and paused. "Sorry," she said, and pulled out a handkerchief. He blinked, confused, until she started wiping her kisses off his face. "It was all I could think of," she added apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," said Daniel, and he probably shouldn't have because she was still wiping, and her fingertip grazed the inside of his lip. 

He felt himself turn red. "Sorr–"

"All done," Peggy said briskly, shoved the cloth away and jammed her arm through his elbow. "Right, let's go."

 

All they had to do was cross the room to the main door and leave. Easy. 

In theory. 

They couldn't just walk straight out; everyone else was wandering or standing and mingling and any fast pace would be noticed. And Sousa was limping, much as he was trying to hide it: they were limited to walking pace. They would also have to avoid being drawn into conversation without being obvious enough about it to raise suspicion; Peggy chose a route that would keep them as far as possible from the soldiers and wives they had talked with earlier, but that was no guarantee they wouldn't pass someone like the man Sousa had tripped into earlier, someone who would strike up conversation with strangers. If that happened they would need a reason to excuse themselves as soon as possible. Then when they got to the door, they had to slip out of the party without anyone wondering why: it was early yet, no one else was ready to leave. They would need yet another excuse–

"Claire, honey, we can go home if you're not feeling any better."

–Thank God Daniel could improvise. Peggy nodded weakly and slumped over his arm to look like she was leaning on him, and braced one arm under his elbow to take some of his weight off his leg. He didn't say anything, but they moved a little faster.

The party was getting livelier; the band had stepped up the tempo and volume and more people were on the dance floor. Those who were standing to talk had moved backwards to make room, which meant they were closer to the walls that Peggy and Sousa could otherwise have quietly walked along. Now the crowd was blocking their path.

Peggy glanced over the people they were nearing; three women, one whom she had tried to wheedle information from earlier, and four men in civilian wear; one was doing all the talking while the others sipped their wine, looking politely bored. Any of them might try pulling newcomers into their circle just to change the subject. 

She tugged Sousa's arm and steered them right, cutting into the crowd behind the talking man's back. "Pardon me," she said, slipping between people and trying to make room for Sousa. "So sorry, excuse me. Darling, are you all right?"

Sousa was having trouble weaving through the crowd on his crutch, but not nearly as much as she'd feared. "Fine, honey, just need a drink." He subtly jerked his head forward.

She craned her neck to see over the crowd. Ah, yes, there was a table with drinks some way ahead; that was a good goal to be walking towards. No one would question it. Peggy found a little more space to stand and politely tapped shoulders until they got through. 

Picking up a wine glass for each of them, Peggy looped her arm back through Sousa's so they could walk with the drinks. "How much time do you think we have?" he said quietly.

"I don't know," said Peggy, murmuring into the glass as she took a sip. "If someone does go looking for them they won't be hard to find." That they might wake up on their own was a moot point now; if they hadn't recovered already, the damage was probably severe. "It's... going to be worse if I killed them."

Sousa grimaced. "Let's hope you didn't."

Peggy nodded, a cold knot in her gut; that had never been the plan. "What about Payne?"

"He'll live if I did it right," Sousa said, trying to keep his glass steady as they walked. "I've done it before, but... don't know if it worked then. We were taking a town," he added. "At night, sneaking in to disable enemy radios. It went bad."

"You'll have to tell me the story later," said Peggy. "I don't think I can quite appreciate it right now."

"Thought it'd be a good distraction from the, you know, imminent disaster," Sousa replied.

"You're quite the optimist," she observed dryly.

"I do my best."

Reginald Holtz was watching them. 

Peggy froze, a half-formed retort on her tongue as she spotted the man peering at her from their right. She halted for half a step to hide her face behind Daniel, but it was too late: Holtz was walking over. He'd seen her see him. Anything they did to avoid him would look suspicious. 

She coughed and bent over, jerking on Sousa's arm. "Trouble," she hissed, and that was all there was time for.

Holtz stepped in front of them, wine glass in hand and tapping it thoughtfully with his ring. "Do I know you?" he asked.

In her strongest twangy American accent, Peggy said, "Don't think so, Mister," complete with a tilt of her head and the most vacant look she could muster. She tugged on Sousa's arm. "C'mon honey, you promised me a dance."

"'Course, honey," said Sousa, trying (and not quite managing) to match her new accent. He nodded to Holtz. "'Scuse us, sir," he said coolly.

He sidestepped Holtz and started towards the dance floor, not the way they wanted to go but at least not the opposite direction, but Holtz followed them. 

"Gorgeous doll like yourself is hard to forget," he said, keeping pace next to Peggy, looking her up and down appreciatively. On her other side, Sousa scowled. "I know: You were at Walter Sim's Academy Awards party, weren't you?"

Peggy giggled as annoyingly as she could. "Oh, I can't afford that, sir! Never been anyplace as fancy as this before." She hugged Sousa's arm. "Ain't it gorgeous, honey?"

"How about Jones' New Year gala in January?" Peggy shook her head. "Stark's birthday last August?"

"August?" repeated Sousa, stopping short. He frowned as if thinking about something. "That night you didn't come home..." He narrowed his eyes at her. 

_Brilliant, Daniel_ , Peggy wanted to say. She took the ball and ran with it. 

"Oh darling, that was _nothing_!" she exclaimed, pivoting to face him and conveniently turning her back on Holtz at the same time. "I told you, I just... I, uh– I was out with a friend. Marjorie, you know her. We went dancing."

"You said you were seeing a _movie_ with _Sarah_."

Trying to look embarrassed that anyone might hear this, Peggy glanced at Holtz: It was working, he wasn't trying to get closer anymore, unwilling to get involved in their drama. As long as they didn't give him any openings to gallantly interrupt on her behalf (unlikely), he would probably walk away soon.

"I didn't– I didn't say that," Peggy said to Sousa in a low voice, loud enough for Holtz to hear, and wished again she could blush on command. Such a useful skill. She thought about the look on Steve's face the first time she kissed him, stunned and hopeful and that tiny hint of _hungry_ , and her cheeks warmed a little. "Sarah hates theatres."

"Funny, 'cause last month you said you two were going to see _Road to Utopia_ together too," he accused, jerking his arm away. "Wasn't that the same day Stark threw a party, made headlines?"

"Honey, you _know_ I'd never cheat on you!" 

Sousa scowled and stormed off towards the main door as fast as he could. Peggy followed, resisting the urge to look back to see how Holtz was reacting in case he took it as an invitation. 

She chased Daniel for about ten feet, weaving through crowds until he stopped and turned, still scowling to keep up the act, but he looked around over her head and relaxed a fraction: Holtz wasn't following, then.

"That was the _best_ thing you could have said," Peggy told him quietly, bracing her arm under his as they walked on. "Thank you."

He ducked so no one could see him grin. "Just doing my job." He nodded at the main door: They were getting close now, maybe thirty feet and a few dozen people between it and them. "Should we go back to you being sick?" he asked.

Peggy hesitated. It was a bad idea to switch stories; too likely that people might compare notes and find the inconsistency. On the other hand, being sick was a plausible reason to leave that would raise no eyebrows. "Let's blend them. You're angry with me and insisting we leave but don't want to share the real reason why, so we're pretending I'm ill."

"Pretending we're pretending. That's easy to keep straight."

"Hopefully they'll think they're smart to see through one and not question the other."

He nodded and set his jaw angrily. Peggy took his elbow gingerly and kept distance between them, looking down and hopefully appearing ashamed.

Twenty feet from the exit, there was an odd sound behind her; hurried voices, worried ones. She glanced back: There was a huddle of people by the door to the corridor where they'd left the men. Someone in a lieutenant's uniform was pushing his way through the crowd. She heard the word "ambulance".

She nudged Sousa. He looked back too, tensed and took his next step faster; she held him back. "We're too late."

Ten feet from the door and they couldn't risk using it. Sousa muttered a word that wasn't English and didn't need to be. 

"I heartily agree."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan was to have the entire escape in this chapter and then an epilogue, but it's been getting way too long. The next chapter should be the last.


	6. Agents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good agent never leaves their partner behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took long enough, right? Hope it's worth the wait. Thanks for reading :)

 

 

"We need another way out."

Daniel nodded, keeping up the appearance of a light-hearted conversation with his wife and frantically thinking back over the maps and building plans they'd studied for this mission. "The kitchen has a back stair that leads to an alley at the back; it goes 'round the east side of the building. If we get there we can get to the street, but there's no way we'll get past the staff without being seen."

"We'll deal with that later," Peggy replied in a hushed voice, smiling brightly as they walked around the room, curving their path as though they'd never meant to go out the main doors anyway. "What's on the east side? Will they see us?"

Daniel discreetly gestured to the blank wall on their right. "It's that way. There's a row of rooms through there that look over the alley. Intel didn't say what they are. Could be offices."

"It's likely; I saw Bennett and Payne come in that way earlier. The door was hidden... there." she nodded at some tall potted plants standing against the wall, two of them about as far apart as a doorway. Daniel squinted; yeah, that looked like a seam of a door running between them. A chandelier with a wide band was nicely placed to cast a shadow right over the seam too, and on second glance it wasn't in line with the other lights, so the door probably wasn't designed to be a secret, just hidden for the party, or from his usual guests. It could be a way out. Or a very very bad idea. Coin toss. 

"There's no doors on the east side Cart– Claire," he warned. "Just windows."

"Then a window will have to do."

He stopped and leaned over, whispering, "Pegg–"

"We'll find a way, Daniel."

He nodded tightly, straightened up and put on a smile, and didn't say there were no ways that weren't painful.

They slowed to a stop in front of the plants and Daniel leaned casually on the door in the wall, feeling around behind his back for the handle while Peggy kept up a quiet stream of cover conversation for the both of them. His knuckle smacked against it (ow) and he twisted his arm until he could grab a hold. 

It turned slightly; unlocked. So the area was probably hidden more for privacy than security. Good. That meant there probably wouldn't be men on guard in there. Probably. There were definitely people in the kitchen.

He nodded discreetly at Peggy and she stepped in front of him, dropping the conversation and lifting her elbows to fuss with her hair. Between that and the leafy plants, he was as hidden as it was possible to be, but it wasn't much, and they'd have seconds at most. 

Daniel turned the knob, glanced in long enough to see it was dark, and slipped through, pushing the door over behind him. Then he stepped out of the way and waited.

The four seconds of silence, in the dark, felt like eons.

Peggy dashed through the doorway and shoved it closed behind her, barely slowing it enough to keep it quiet. "I think we're clear," she said in a low voice, and she might have turned to him, but the only light was coming from under the door and all he could see was the faint curve of her chin. "Now what? Where are we?"

"A corridor. There should be doors every eight or ten feet on the other side," said Daniel, and he stepped carefully into the dark, crutch and one hand feeling ahead for walls. It wasn't a narrow corridor, but he reached the other side fairly quickly. "I don't know what's behind any of them. See what you can find."

Her footsteps clicked quietly to his left, so Daniel went right, and he wasn't surprised when she found one first. "Locked," she added.

Daniel's fingers hit a raised edge and he felt around what had to be a door frame, up and over to the flat of the door and searched until he reached the knob. It wouldn't budge. "This one too."

Another door rattled further away as Peggy tried it. "They probably all are. Damn."

"You got a lock pick?"

"I have hairpins," Peggy said. "They'll have to do."

If it weren't for her footsteps, Daniel would have jumped when her searching hand found his arm – jumped, and probably thrown a punch out of reflex. Thank God for women's heels.

Peggy left one hand on his arm and he heard her hand slide on the wallpaper, then a dull click as she tapped the door frame. He stepped back to give her room, took her hand from his shoulder and led her to the knob by touch. Her nail pinged on the metal as she felt for the keyhole. "Oh, this will fun," she muttered.

"You mean you weren't having fun?" said Daniel, aghast, looking at where he guessed her head was. She chuckled.

"Loads."

He laughed – louder than he should have, high and thin, maybe it was their imminent arrests talking – and stepped back to let her work. 

No, it wasn't that he was worried about being caught, he decided. Everything chewing holes in his gut right now was about the lady beside him and the window she'd asked him to jump out of. Daniel knew exactly how far they were going to have to drop: The building was built high on a brick foundation at least two feet tall. They were on the second floor, and floors average about ten feet high, and windows start at least a foot off the ground anyway, so add that all together–

Thirteen feet. And if the alley was anything like the million others in New York, nothing but concrete to land on. 

"Give me your hand," Peggy said suddenly, and the tips of her fingers swept over his stomach as she reached back. "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine." He found her searching arm and slid his hand down it, past her elbow until she could take his wrist. "What do you need?"

"Hold this–" she pressed a thin metal strip, a hairpin, against his fingers "–here–" and guided his wrist up and to the left and forward until the pin was sitting however she needed it to in the lock. He had to stand almost right behind her to keep his wrist straight, and he strained to keep his hip from touching what he guessed (hoped) was her shoulder. 

Click. Click.

The lock turned. "Got it."

She pushed it and stepped into the room, and Daniel could breathe again. That was... He shook his head, hurried in after her and quietly closed the door behind him. "See a key?" he asked.

This room had a bit of light coming in from the streetlamps out the windows, enough to see furniture before tripping over it and that the walls were lined with shelves, to see this was a library, but not much else, and he could hear Peggy feeling her way through the drawer of the nearest desk and a cabinet before sighing. "No."

Anyone who thought about searching the dark corridor was going to find the only unlocked door pretty damn fast. "Great," said Daniel, manoeuvring around the desks and an armchair as deftly as he could. "Let's hope there's a way to make this window thing work."

"Hear hear," said Peggy, a dark shape dancing ahead of him to the window. She peered through the glass.

When she didn't say anything as Daniel caught up, he sighed inside. "So, no convenient dumpsters full of soft trash, huh?"

"Only an empty one," she said apologetically. "It'll be good for cover, but–"

"But we have to get there first," he finished, reaching the window and looking out with her. "I figured. And here's hoping no one's in the room under us," he said, leaning over to look at the ground; there was no light spilling out, but that could change. "I don't know what's down there. Could be storage, more offices, I don't know. Not that we've got a choice," he noted.

Faint light from the streetlamps at the end of the alley fell on their faces, and he could see Peggy set her jaw. She reached out for the curtain hanging beside them. "This can be a rope," she said. "Or at least the start of and an anchor for one."

Daniel ran a hand down the curtain on his side; it was held back with one of those fancy tasselled cords which, he found as he felt along it, was probably about two feet long unwound. It wasn't exactly military issue, but not too thin to hold a man's weight, and they wouldn't need it for long. There was one other window in the room, so two more curtains; four cords two feet long, tied together... it could work, though they'd loose a lot of length knotting them together securely. He unlooped the first cord from its hook and handed it to Peggy. She understood immediately and began tying them together while Daniel went to get the other pair.

"There won't be any way to hide that this is how we got out," she mused out loud. "We'll have to be sure no one sees us leave the alley."

"One thing at a time," he grumbled from the other window. The cords were made of smooth strands that he already knew would slip easily through his fingers; they'd need to wind it around their hands to have any control going down. At least Peggy could use both her feet; he'd have to rely on his arms. This was just getting better and better.

He looped the cords over his shoulder and hurried back to where Peggy had just finished tying the base of the curtain into a thick knot. "Do you think it'll hold?" 

She took the first cord and started anchoring it to the curtain knot, frowning. "I think it will hold for long enough. We only need to get close enough to the ground to jump safely."

"I can't do that, Carter."

She stopped, looked at him, and Daniel wanted to sink into the floor. "What do you mean?"

He looked down at his hands, tying the last two cords together and very carefully studying his work for flaws. "I've only got one good leg, and if I land wrong – and with that drop, I probably will, I've got no control – then I'll break it. You can't carry me out that alley, not unnoticed." He shrugged and offered a smile, like it was trivial. "I can't keep up with you. So you need to go alone."

She frowned, hard, not amused at all. "And how, exactly, are you planning to get out?"

"When you get to the street, you find a phone, call Thompson. He's working all night and he'll love an excuse to leave the office. Get him to crash the police investigation. He can 'question' me and get me out with the crowd later." 

He picked up her half of the makeshift rope and started tying it together. Peggy grabbed his arm. "I'm not leaving you here. They'll catch you."

"They're not looking for me," he argued. "They're looking for someone who knocked out four guys all on their own. I couldn't have done that. Even if any of them wakes up right now, it's your face they saw. You have to get out. I'll be all right, trust me."

It made sense. It was the best plan. He wasn't looking to drag the SSR's name through the mud either, and the worst that could happen was a rough interrogation, and that was if Bennett's men found him out before Thompson's cavalry could swoop in. The guys would mock him for weeks for needing to be rescued, but they'd get the job done.

It made sense. He wasn't expecting Peggy's face to harden into a cold scowl. "I am sick of men leaving me behind while throwing themselves into danger. All you ever do is get yourselves killed."

Daniel froze. Rogers, he realised. Shit.

"I have left enough people behind and I am not leaving you here. Either you climb out this window with me, Daniel," she snarled, "or I will throw you."

For a long minute, silence stretched between them. She meant it, he didn't doubt she meant it, and there were layers of meaning in there he couldn't begin to pick apart. Only one thing he was sure of: She was worried about him. 

About him. 

He nodded once, sharply. "Yes, ma'am."

She slumped, just a fraction, in relief. "Good." She slipped off her shoes and climbed up on to the windowsill. "I'll go first, you toss me my shoes and your crutch, then you follow. Understood?"

"Deal." 

She stared him down for another few seconds, then nodded. 

Peggy turned and peered out the window again, checking that the coast was clear, and cautiously opened it, flinching as the hinges groaned loudly. She looped the knotty rope around her waist, wound her arm around the tight half that was anchored to the curtain, taking her weight, and held the loose end against it in front of her, a second safety grip. Daniel held onto the slack of that end, ready to feed it down and take as much of her weight as possible from above. 

Taking a deep breath, Peggy backed out the window, bracing her stockinged feet against the frame, then the brick outside. 

Daniel felt it the moment her life started hanging in the balance; the slippery cords yanked taut in his hands and he struggled to brace himself on one leg. Peggy's head disappeared from view quickly and, over the faint noise of the street floating in, he could hear a scrape of fabric on brick here and there. He fed the free end of the rope out as fast as he could without losing control, until it ran out, which it did way too fast. Then all he could do was hold onto the end that was anchored to the curtain and hope to God it didn't break.

His muscles burned. 

Suddenly the rope suddenly swung sideways, and Daniel's heart stopped for a second before he lunged forward to lean out the window. He couldn't see much in the faint streetlamps, but Peggy's shiny hair was glinting off to his left, and she was holding on to a drainpipe than ran down beside– the basement window, he realised, right below them and not something she could safely brace her feet on. She was going around. 

He held the rope for her until she reached the end, took a bracing breath he could hear, and dropped. 

The rope went slack. There was a soft thud and a hollow metallic thunk as some part of her hit the empty dumpster, but then she said, "I'm down," and he could breathe again. 

 

Peggy didn't bother trying to catch her shoes as they flew down, just waited until she heard both thumps and went to pick them up from where they'd landed. Sousa waited at the window while she did, crutch in hand, and a little knot of fear in her gut dissolved; he wasn't going to go and play hero on her anyway. Good.

Her feet itched as whatever dirt on her stockings rubbed against whatever landed in her shoes as they bounced. There was no time to shake them out. The street was some twenty-five, thirty feet away on her left and she could hear the sirens of an ambulance, or police, and if they weren't out of here before someone decided to search the exits, it was over. 

Sousa stretched down as far as he could with his crutch, but it was well out of her reach. Peggy debated climbing the dumpster, but it wouldn't have been enough. "Just drop it," she hissed. "I can catch."

From this far, she couldn't read his face, but she'd have bet a week of lunch duty that he was sceptical. He did it anyway. 

The shiny silver pole flashed as it fell and Peggy jumped, snatching it mid-air before it could hit the dumpster far more noisily than her arm. With a little thrill of triumph, she stepped back and held it up.

"You should play baseball," Sousa whispered from above. "I hear the Dodgers need a new catcher."

She laughed and quickly stifled it; laughing was too loud. "Come on."

His head disappeared back inside, then the curve of his shoulders and back appeared as he sat on the ledge. One leg flopped right over the edge and swung a little, useless, and for a moment she wondered if they should have tossed his false leg down with the crutch before he climbed. No, it would have taken too long to detach from whatever belt he used to hold it on, not to mention they'd have to reattach it later.

There was nothing she could do but wait as he shuffled out the window, slowly lowering himself down the rope. He used his good leg to keep from scraping against the wall, but he couldn't abseil like she had; he was holding all his weight in his arms, lowering himself like a pulley. Had the basement room below their exit had anyone in it, had any lights been on, there would have been no way to avoid the risk of someone opening the curtain just as he dangled in front of it. But it was dark, and that was the only thing going right for them just now.

Peggy bit her lip as Sousa approached the end of the rope. His hands slipped on the cord, a half-second of terror before he caught himself on the next knot, and he was breathing hard. 

"The drop from the end is nearly seven feet," she told him as he came down. "If you hang from the very end you can take it down to six. Can you land from six feet?"

He huffed, what probably would have been an amused snort if he wasn't out of breath. "Guess we'll find out."

Which meant no. No, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't break his good leg trying to take his full weight as he landed. He couldn't deliberately land on his side or arm or shoulder either, that would just break something else. Somehow they had to shorten the drop. 

Peggy thought about it, decided, and moved to stand right under him. He didn't notice until his legs lowered past the end of the rope and he was feeling the tips in his hands. "Carter, what are you doing?"

"Just let go, Daniel. I'll catch you."

"I'll crush you."

"Don't be so dramatic."

He groaned and looked away, a dark shape in the bad light, and was he... shaking his head? 

"We don't have time and I'm not risking you," she hissed. "Let go of the damn rope."

His shins were dangling in front of her. She couldn't get a grip from here that would support him, but just a little further and–

He let go and dropped on her like a sack of potatoes. 

They hit the concrete together, Peggy breaking just enough of his fall to keep him from breaking anything else, but the bruises, oh, they were going to be spectacular. 

She groaned. Her right arm was stuck under his hip and his false leg was jammed between the dumpster and the wall. He rolled off, panting, and winced as the prosthetic twisted. Free now, Peggy reached down and yanked his leg out, and he slumped back on his elbows. "Hey, Carter?" he said. "Let's never do that again."

She chuckled. "It's not high on my to-do list."

Rolling over, Peggy got to her feet, fetched the crutch from where she'd left it and offered him a hand up. He took it. She hauled him up, groaning with the effort. "Is that leg of yours made of lead?" she grumbled. 

"Funny," he said, taking the crutch and steadying himself. "You're no lightweight yourself. I thought the rope was going to break. Or do you have rocks in that purse of yours?"

"Bricks, actually."

He snorted. Peggy took stock: They were, as a pair, tired, sweaty and probably smeared with whatever dirt was on this alley floor. Above them was a makeshift rope they couldn't detach and which would set off alarms the moment anyone saw it, but ahead was a street that was filling up with lights and policemen. 

Not that they had a choice anymore. Peggy brushed off as much as she could from her dress and Sousa's coat. "They'll probably see us," she said.

"Not like we can pretend Victor and Claire snuck out here to play tickle-tail," he replied– and abruptly backpedalled. "Sorry, sorry," he stammered. "I just meant– um–"

"If there was any legitimate way for us to be here that would be the best option," she replied as professionally as possible, watching the street as they approached quietly, hugging the walls of whatever building was on the other side of the alley. "Most of the gossip would be hushed for shame. But as it is I think we've just got to sneak out and try to make anyone who sees us think we were already walking down the street."

Sousa was still looking away, and in the brightening streetlamps he still looked very red-faced. "That won't be easy," he muttered. 

They were approaching the street now; Peggy edged closer, peering at the bumper of the black car that was parked across the mouth of the alley. Only the rear was visible until they were less than ten feet away, still hiding in shadows; then she saw the white. "No," she sighed. "Not easy at all."

It was a police car, and it being parked on the sidewalk meant there would be at least two more squeezed against the curb on the street out front; those cars could hold six to twelve men, unless one was an ambulance. Likely. So four to eight men. Given the size of the party and how high-profile an event this was, she guessed three to six of them would have gone inside, leaving a man or two out front, but that could have been a while ago now, and if they had all the guests corralled some could be spared to check the exits...

There was no way to know how many would be out front, not to mention the men from the ambulance and whomever they had conscripted into helping carry the four unconscious men out. For all they knew someone could be checking the kitchen exit and about to come up behind them; again, no way to know. 

They had to make the dash down the last ten feet and try to get into the flow of people walking down the street. They might be seen; if not by the police, a crowd may have gathered by now and a bystander could see them. 

There was no choice. 

She turned to Daniel, weary and wobbly on his crutch. Any burst of speed would be painful for him. "Are you ready?"

He gave her a smile, shrugging. "Eh, this party's getting boring anyway."

 

Chief Dooley dropped their mission folder onto his desk. The paper snapped as it hit and knocked a pencil, sending it rolling off to the floor towards Thompson's foot. The morning sun reflected off his shoe.

"Nothing?" Dooley repeated. "You got nothing."

"Not quite, sir," said Daniel, resisting the urge to glance at Peggy. "We know where Stark isn't, and that Bennett's not helping him."

"Bennett's not helping anyone right now, thanks to you two," said Dooley. "Tell me something, Carter: Was it necessary to put him and three of his guys in the hospital?"

She straightened, considered. "Yes."

"Huh." Dooley leaned back; he hadn't expected that. "Okay: Why?"

"We had to maintain our cover. My 'husband' was right outside when the man tried to kiss me."

Thompson snorted. "So? You could've played along, gotten all cosy–"

"Would you have kissed him, Agent Thompson?"

Jack choked, turning green. Daniel fought really, really hard to keep a straight face. "I heard something odd and went to check it out," he said to Dooley to cover it, "and once Carter saw me she didn't have a choice. If Claire and Victor had had a fight in public, everyone would've remembered us. As soon as we were sure Bennett didn't know anything, we wanted to get out before he and Payne realised we'd both been asking the same questions and got suspicious."

Dooley thought it over, nodding. "All right, Sousa, that was a good call. And you're sure none of Stark's broads knew anything?" he asked Peggy.

"I am."

The chief sighed heavily. "Well, it was worth a shot. Good job, you two," he said dully, sitting down. "Type up your reports and get 'em to me by the end of the day."

It wasn't exactly glowing praise, and Daniel glanced at Peggy; she was blank faced and poised. "Yes sir," she said, and turned to the door. Daniel didn't.

"Sir, for the record?" he said. Dooley looked up. "Bennett was sure Stark is innocent. Argued his case pretty well, too. I'll have the details in my report."

Dooley studied him for a second, nodded. "All right."

Daniel nodded, and didn't look at Peggy as they walked out; he couldn't let it look like he was doing this for her – and he wasn't, not completely. She could be right. He hoped so.

Jack was right on their heels. "So this whole mission was a waste of time," he said as they reached Daniel's desk. "You sure there was nothing else you could've tried, Sousa?"

Daniel lowered himself into his chair and pretended to think about it. "Well, I guess I could've shown off my Navy Cross and got his attention and respect long enough to try asking the same questions all over again. Is that what you would've done?"

Thompson frowned. "Maybe. But I guess we'll never know."

"You sound disappointed, Agent Thompson," said Peggy lightly, coming back from her desk with typing paper and a coffee – for him, Daniel realised as she held it out, and accepted it gratefully. She had a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I thought you'd be relieved," she continued. Jack narrowed his eyes at her.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Well, if you'd taken point on this mission you'd have had to have spent a whole evening pretending you like me. I don't believe you've had much practice."

Behind them, Henry coughed on his coffee and Yauch chuckled, covering it fast as he could with his hand. Daniel didn't bother; he grinned at Peggy while Jack scowled and stalked off to scare the guys back to work. "Don't think I'll be getting any anytime soon either, Carter," he threw back at her. 

"I wouldn't want you to overwork yourself," she replied, but quieter, so only Daniel could hear. He grinned again and saluted with the coffee cup. 

"Thanks," he said. 

She shook her head. "Thank you," she said, nodding at Dooley's office. "He might take it seriously coming from you."

"I don't know what I believe about Stark right now," he cautioned. "If he's guilty–"

"It's the open mind I appreciate."

Daniel nodded. Peggy stepped back and turned towards her desk, tucking a bit of hair back as she did, and Daniel blinked. "Carter, wait."

She turned back. He dug into his vest pocket and pulled out the prop ring she'd given him. "Thought you might want this back."

For a moment, she just looked at it, a tiny smile on the edge of her mouth. "Keep it," she said, closing his hand over it. "You might need it again."

Smiling, she walked off. Daniel watched her skirt swish. At the desk between them, Wallace snickered and shared a glance with the guys in the next row. Peggy ignored them, caught Daniel's eye and discreetly rolled her eyes at them. Daniel grinned and turned back to his work.

It was worth it.

 

 


End file.
